


Found

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Sanders' Sirens [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxciet - Freeform, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Sympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Sympathetic Logic | Logan Sanders, Sympathetic Morality | Patton Sanders, past captivity, royality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Virgil never thought he'd see the siren who broke him again. He didn't want to. But when he shows up washed ashore, they both have to face the truth of the past.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Sanders' Sirens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804339
Comments: 49
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again, binge wrote this in a few days, so it may not be perfect, but I'm pretty happy with it. All y'all that were ragging on Dee last story best be ready to apologize!

fting. 

He’s following a vague feeling, a vague pull, his instincts pulling him forwards, pulling him in circles, at times, as the feeling leading him fades in and out. 

The net is wrapped around him, chafing his skin, his scales, squeezing closed his gills so he has to swim with his head above water, slowing him further. He’s sunburned, he can tell, but there’s no recourse to that right now, it just adds to his exhaustion, but he can’t sleep. 

Every time he unknowingly drifts off, he wakes spluttering and choking on sea water, because of the damn net. 

His nails are red and broken from trying to claw it off, he’s tried biting it, cutting it with a sharp rock, but it’s woven too firmly, and he just has to deal with it and hope he’ll get wherever he’s going soon, because otherwise… 

Otherwise he’ll drown. 

That thought spurs him on, and he pushes forwards, listing and unsteady, gritting his teeth against the pain of kicking his tail, forcing himself to remember, to not slip away into a haze, to not let his limbs give out, he’s made it so far, he got away, he got out, and he will not lose now. 

Violet scales flashing in the light, glimmering like a million precious gems. Deep, dark eyes, as endless as the ocean itself. Soft, warm hands, cupping his cheeks, lips against his. The weight of another tangled up in his own limbs, smiling as he strokes that dark hair, his love finally falling asleep in his arms. 

The music, the music, the music, follow it. 

That’s what’s leading him, that’s his guiding star, and he doesn’t even realize he’s drifted downwards until the water starts filling his lungs, and he screams. 

He screams in frustration, in rage, in pain, in sorrow, in regret, in love, and somehow, the water parts around him, pushes him onwards, a current rising to meet his desperate, keening plea, as his vision goes black against the waves.   
…  
“Roman.” He groans, rolling over at the voice and the soft shake of his shoulder, throwing an arm up over his head. He smiles at the small giggle his motion elicits, still feigning sleep, knowing his own suppressed laughter gave him away. 

“Come on, sleepy head, we’re gonna miss it!” Patton whines, playfully shoving his arm away from his face, and Roman’s breath catches as his face comes into view, those blue eyes alight with excitement. Grinning, Roman lunges upwards, catching Patton’s lips with his. 

“five more minutes, Paloma. Just five more minutes.” He mumbles against Patton’s lips, who laughs, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. 

“Last time you said that, it turned into three more hours. Sunrise swim, Ro, let’s go!” He stumbles as Patton pulls him along, before laughing, scooping the smaller siren up in his arms, reveling in his laughter as he twirls him around once, before throwing him into the water. 

A moment later his head emerges, grinning with mischief, and Roman yelps as his ankle is pulled out from under him, sending him tumbling into the surf, his tail tingling to life as Patton tackles him further into the water, tagging him, before darting away, quick as a minnow. 

“Gotcha!” He finally shouts, after several minutes of chasing, careening into Patton around the corner of the reef, instantly surfacing as he feels Patton trembling, something wrong. “Paloma?” He asks softly, hands on Patton’s shoulders, but Patton tears away, back towards the shore, and he follows, catching sight of it as soon as Patton moves. 

A siren. Unconscious on the beach. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out before him as if grasping for something just out of reach, the waves lapping over his tail just enough that it doesn’t shift back. He’s only just barely above the tideline, and it looks like he was washed in from high tide, meaning he’d been there since at least midnight. 

Patton is already trying to rouse him, though the merman shows no reaction to his soft words or gentle shakes, his breath wheezing in and out, eyes flicking uneasily beneath his closed lids. 

Roman takes a moment to examine his tail, which really is a beauty, all gilded filigree and shimmering gold, a vision of decadence and poise, though looking closer, he can see patches of missing scales, and frowns. Occasionally, scales do fall off, if snagged or rubbed up against something rough, but this doesn’t look like that. These patches are too regular, too perfectly spaced apart to keep the shine of the tail, for them to be random. 

“Roman. We need to get the net off. It’s over his gills.” Roman’s attention snaps too at Patton’s calm, but distressed words, noting how hard his love is shaking, no doubt remembering his own experiences, and he instantly nods, finding a sharp shell and sawing away at the rope. 

As soon as it slackens, the siren heaves in a huge breath and coughs, the pressure over his gills relieved as they flare open wide, expelling seawater by the bucketful until he’s merely heaving up bile, shaking, eyes flicking open as Patton soothingly rubs his back, Roman carefully untangling the rest of the net from his body. 

“hey, kiddo. It’s alright, you let it all out. We’re gonna get you all fixed up in no time.” He murmurs, the siren’s eyes drifting shut again without acknowledging his words, or that he’s even heard, his breathing more even as he slips into unconsciousness. 

“We’ll get him back to the house, then get Lo. He’ll know what to do.” Roman says, easily scooping the siren into his arms, the tail shifting back after a long minute of being exposed to the air, longer than it should have taken, and he frowns. 

“Ro?” 

“He’s been in mer form for a long time, longer than we’re supposed to be, if it took him that long to shift back. I’ve heard stories, of sirens forgoing land for too long and getting stuck in their mer forms. It’s not impossible, to live solely in the water, but it’s harder, and not what we were made to do. But he doesn’t have the muscle or physique one would expect, from roughing it out in the waves. It looks like he’s barely ever swum at all.” He shakes himself out of his thoughts as Patton rests a hand on his arm, looking up at him with worried eyes. 

“we can ask him later. But right now, the poor thing seems exhausted. Wherever he came from, it seems like it wasn’t a pleasant time.” Patton’s own face darkens, and Roman leans down, brushing a kiss against his forehead. 

“All right, darling. I’ll get him settled. You go fetch Logan.”   
…

He hears gentle voices. Someone rubbing his arms, with something cool and soothing, and he breathes out softly, relief sweeping over him as it eases his burning skin.

“-should be fine. He seems exhausted and malnourished and dehydrated, but-“ The voice cuts itself off, biting his tongue. 

“It’s okay to say it, Lo. But he’s nowhere near as bad a shape as I was in.” That voice is soft and warm, and he feels the shadows above him shift slightly. 

“… yes. He has clearly been mistreated, but not to the extent that you were abused. He-“ 

“Logan? Wha’s going on?” He jolts at that voice, everything in him screaming, as he jolted awake, jolted upwards, hearing three startled yelps at his sudden movement, but his eyes are completely locked on those endless dark ones, breath frozen in his chest, because there he is, there he is, just as perfect and beautiful and stunning and lovely as the last time he saw him, those violent scales encircling his eyes glimmering in the light. 

“Nymphaea…” He whispers, and Virgil inhales sharply, shoulders raised and eyes wide, something deep and broken in them, that makes his chest ache and he reaches out, desperate and pleading.

Then Virgil turns tail and runs.

…  
No. No. Absolutely not, no. This cannot be happening, he cannot be here, this cannot be happening. 

He doesn’t know what else to do, when faced with those mismatched honey sweet eyes, those magnificent golden scales, that stupidly perfect face, it tears at his chest, it rips it to shreds, there’s nothing else to do besides run as far and fast as he can. He thinks his heart might actually be splitting in two as he trips, rolls down a hill, not bothering to get up, instead curling up where he lands, fighting back a scream, because if he starts, he won’t be able to stop.

Everything in him is screaming, pulling, demanding, that he go back to that room, that he pull Janus into his arms and never let him go, that he kiss him until they’re both silly from it, and he wants so desperately to feel those arms around him, to trace those scales with the tips of his fingers, and it’s ripping him apart, the desperate, aching, need, that he’d managed to mostly silence, to shove down except for the occasional pang of pain, but there is no stopping it now, the agony coursing through him anew, and it hurts worse because it isn’t even all from the magic bond between them, it’s his own stupid heart that still loves Janus despite knowing with all his being that he should want absolutely nothing to do with him. 

But now that he’s so close, now that he’s right there, it’s nearly irresistible, it’s his own siren song echoing in his head, dragging him down, but he refuses to give in to it, refuses to let his own stupidity and past naiveté lead him down the same broken pathways as before. 

Shimmering golden scales. 

Entrancing soft eyes. 

A fond, infuriating smirk. 

Soft touches against his tail, gentle hands against his chest, warm lips against his, and he shudders, curling tighter against the ground, trying to force back the memories, the desire the want, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t be here! 

“virgil. Virgil, I need you to breathe. Can you try and breathe with me?” He can barely hear the voice, can’t even place it, his chest is so tight, his airway constricted to a pinpoint, and he wishes he’d just pass out already, so he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. 

He flinches, hissing, as he feels a touch against him, but he doesn’t have the strength to do anything about it, folding against it instantly as his will gave way, realizing it was Logan, it was Logan, but his touch seemed cold and wrong and distant, because it wasn’t his, it wasn’t Janus, and he wanted him, but hated him, but didn’t want to be anywhere, anywhere near him. 

“Virgil. Just breathe. Just try and take a deep breath for me, ok?” Logan asks, and manages to comply, though it burns his throat, he manages to follow Logan’s counting, until, finally, he’s gasping in actual air, the speckles receding from his vision, not that he can see anything anyway, face shoved against Logan’s shirt, hiding from the world. Logan’s hands run up and down his arms in a steady, repetitive motion, and he shivers, clinging harder to him, not wanting to pull away, not wanting to face the world, not wanting to face the ache growing by the second in his chest. 

“I don’t want to see him.” He manages to gasp out. “I don’t want to see him ever again. He left. He left, I waited for him, but he left me, he doesn’t get to find me now, he doesn’t get to come here, he doesn’t get to be near them, ruin what they have. What we could have had. I don’t want him.” He whispers, and it’s an absolute lie and an absolute truth, and oh, wouldn’t Janus be fascinated by that concept? He always did love analyzing words and their meanings. 

“I know, I know, Virg, I know. He doesn’t have to be here long, all right? We’ll let him rest, heal up, and in a couple days he’ll be gone. You don’t have to see him again, you don’t have to go near him. I won’t let him hurt you, more than he already has.” Logan swears, and his death grip relaxes somewhat, because he knows Logan wouldn’t say that unless he meant it. 

“ok.” He mumbles, exhausted even though he’d only just woken up, entirely wiped out by the panic attack, yes, but also the strength he had to put into ignoring Janus’s presence, into staying away. 

By the time Logan lifts him up, into his arms, he’s already asleep once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, exactly, kept Janus from returning to Virgil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst train, my dudes.

“Virgil!” He calls, trying to lunge out of bed, to run after him, but as soon as his feet hit the ground they give out under him, weak and shaky and they feel so strange, so wrong, after only having his tail for so long, he doesn’t know if he could walk to save his life. 

His gaze is fixed on the doorway, on that briefest of glimpses, but it’s everything, he’s everything, and he doesn’t even realize he’s started trying to crawl towards it, until he feels a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. 

Instinctively, he snarls, lashing out, because he won’t be confined, anymore, he won’t be put back in that tank, he won’t let them stop him, when Virgil is so close, but no matter how hard he thrashes, that grip stays strong, and he folds, sobbing, because he was so, so close. 

“you’re him. You’re the human Virgil changed. You broke his heart.” He comes back to himself slightly at that soft voice, enough to shake his head. 

“Please, please you have to let me go after him, you don’t understand, you don’t… let me GO!” He shouts, panic rising at the grip of the hands around his wrists, feeling closed in and cornered, and he can’t breathe. 

There’s not enough space. There’s barely enough room for him to stretch his tail to its fullest, much less turn around, swim at all. The water is unpleasantly warm, and deoxygenated enough he’s in a near constant haze, time blurring and twisting as he struggles to hang on to awareness, to keep searching for a way out, he has to fight off complacency. 

The only time they let him out of the tank is when they want more scales to sell for trinkets, and he always lunges for the small opening, trying to pry it larger, before the chemicals they dump in the water take effect, but it never works, they’re smart enough the opening is just a slat, the chemical sends him dizzy and breathless to the bottom of the tank, until they haul him out with their ropes, keeping his tail ever wet to harvest, just enough scales to sell, not enough to dull his shine, they need that for the show, after all, to attract the people who pay good money to see a real live mermaid, in all his half dead glory.

Still, when the gawkers are there, he waves, flicks his tail, smiles charmingly though he’s dying inside, searching every face for the one he knows he’ll never, ever see here, somehow still disappointed every time he fails to find it, playing along because he’s learned what happens otherwise, learned just how much worse this captivity can get. 

But always, always, he’s searching for a way out. 

He gasps as the hands release him, and he shoots backwards across the floor, shaking uncontrollably, because he can feel Virgil’s pain, now that they’re so close, and it’s killing him, it’s killing him that Virgil is hurting this badly, that he doesn’t want to see him, that he wishes he would just go away, when the thought of making it out, of finding Virgil was the only thing, the only thing that had kept him going day after day instead of giving in and wasting away. 

“please. Please tell him I tried. Please tell him I never meant to leave, I never wanted to leave, please tell him I love him more than I can ever say, please tell him I waited. It was the one thing, the one thing they could never get from me, no matter what they did, I waited.” His voice is hoarse and broken, he’s surprised he remembers how to use it at all, really, how to form words into sentences, he used to make the most beautiful sentences, every word he spoke was hand chosen and crafted into perfection, it’s no wonder his voice is fading out even now from this small use, and he can feel two pairs of eyes on him, though he’s too tired to flinch back from a careful, soft touch of his shoulder. 

“You waited? For what kiddo?” 

“to use my voice. I never spoke. I never sung. I waited… I’ll keep waiting…” his eyes slip closed despite his own desperation, his own cracking heart, he doesn’t know the last time he’s felt this much, been lucid enough, to feel this much. “please, tell him I’ll wait forever, if that’s what he wants.” He whispers, already feeling his throat scratching, grating, from this much use, knowing it will be sore, and he will be silenced by his own body if he speaks another word, feeling tears dripping down his face, but he’s too tired, too lost already, to notice, much less care.

…  
Patton keeps his eyes on Roman as they move the siren back to the bed, noticing the troubled crease of his forehead, the slight down turn of his lips, lost in thought about something. He gently bumps him to get his attention, meeting Roman’s questioning gaze with a soft frown. 

“you’re being awfully quiet.” He says, slipping a hand into Roman’s, who raises it to his lips, kissing it softly, before lowering it once more, squeezing it gently. 

“he’s not what I expected. Virgil… well, he hasn’t told me anything, really, about him. I only know he exists at all because of Virgil’s… warning, when you were ill.” A shadow crosses his face, but it’s dispelled at Patton’s soft hum, shifting closer so he’s sitting on Roman’s lap, letting Roman wrap his arms around him to hold him steady, knowing the weight helps center him. 

“He didn’t say much then, but it seemed clear that he had changed him, and he had immediately left, and not returned. It sounded like he had chosen to abandon Virgil, had used him to get what he wanted, then discarded him like some broken play thing. At least, that is what Virgil thinks. But…” 

“But that story doesn’t seem to fit anymore, does it?” Patton finishes, and Roman huffs, shaking his head. 

“Just because he got into trouble later, doesn’t mean he didn’t leave Virgil. He could have walked away and intended to never come back. But I think we’re missing something, Patton. He wasn’t lying, about his voice, about singing, at least. Your voice, for example, it’s grown, right? It’s more musical, more lilting, even just speaking it’s richer and softer. That doesn’t start to happen until you sing for the first time, and his voice is barely there at all. It’s almost completely gone. The exact opposite of what is supposed to happen. It’s deteriorated, from lack of use. I’m almost surprised there’s anything left of it at all.” 

“He was restrained. In some way, or confined.” Patton says, voice shaking, and Roman looks down at him, softly running a hand over his arms. “I can tell. His… his reaction to you. He was terrified, of being cornered, being touched, being… being held back. It took him somewhere else. Somewhere bad.” Then Roman is hugging him tight, pressing a soft, impossibly tender kiss to his forehead, enveloping him in warmth and safety, something he clings to desperately. 

They don’t say anything. Roman just holds him, humming a soft, deep note, and he focuses on that, instead of the memories trying to break through to the surface. 

“no one will hurt you, Paloma. We’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll figure it out.” He murmurs softly, smiling as Patton’s eyes peek up at him, so full of light and hope, he can’t help but reach out, brush his hair back from his eyes, his hand lingering against his face. 

“I know. I trust you, Ro. You’re perfect.” And now it’s Roman’s turn to blush, for all he peppers Patton with words of love, pet names, assurances, he caves at the slightest bit of affection, turning into a tomatoey mess. Patton giggles, reaching up, tipping his face down, so he can press a kiss to his lips, before curling back up against his chest with a content sigh, knowing Roman is still burning red. 

“I love you.” He whispers, feeling Roman’s soft laugh in response, as he nuzzles his hair. 

“I love you, too, Pat. More than words can say.” Roman mumbles back, against his hair, content to sit in the silence, holding his love, ready to chase away any threat that tries to steal away Patton’s happiness.   
…

He’s grinning like a fool. He feels lighter than he has in years, hair mussed and sand still sticking to his legs despite his attempts to brush it off, and he sighs stupidly as he thinks of Virgil, waiting for him in the cove, their cove, to run away together in the morning. 

He’s not leaving much behind. His family is one of the poorest in the village, his father can’t keep a job, half because of the alcohol and half because of his incredibly detestable personality. His mother is long dead, died shortly after having him, and his father hasn’t forgiven him for it. 

As if he’d wanted to kill her, as if he’d stabbed her in the heart, he hadn’t done anything other than exist, and even that was too much. He avoids home as much as he can, but there’s only so much time he can spend away before his father comes looking, and it is always worse for him, when he makes his father search for him. 

And despite himself, he feels the need to say some sort of goodbye, to snag a couple of treasured items from his room to bring along, wherever they decide to go. 

They can go anywhere. Anywhere, in the whole world, and he’s smiling stupidly again as he enters the house, lost in his own daydreams and fantasies, and that’s why he doesn’t realize what is happening before it’s already too late, before he’s knocked unconscious, immobile, listening to his father sell him off to repay his debts, having noticed his odd happiness, of late, his odd hours of coming and going, having followed him and seen him with Virgil, seen what had happened. He’d always thought him cursed, and this just confirms it, to his father, and he wants nothing to do with a filthily tainted son, but he’ll take the money for his trouble, to sell out a siren.

No. He wants to scream no, as he feels them bind him, drag him away, but his head is swimming and he wants to claw and bite and tear and race down to the sea, race back to Virgil, to pull him out of the cove and out to the open ocean and never look back, but as soon as he groans, tries to move, there’s a rag over his mouth, his nose, and he has no choice but to breath in the sweet mind numbing scent, that sends him limp and lost to the world, until he wakes up, in the tank.

They tell him he’s pretty, beautiful, stunning, wonderous, but their words scald him, because he once spoke those words to someone else, someone deserving of them. They say someone so pretty must have the voice of an angel, won’t he just give them a taste? It will make his life so much more comfortable, once he gives them his voice, they’ll give him more room and water and maybe even time on his legs, if he’s good. He scowls at them, bares his teeth, he will never sing for them, never let them hear his voice, not even to murder them with its sound, because they would still take it, still think themselves special for having drowned to siren song, and he won’t let them think they’re any better than they are. 

They train him, to behave, to not ram at the glass until he’s bruised black and blue, to smile and wave and be coy with the viewers, they show him just how small a space he can fit in, just how painful removing scales can be, just how long he can go without food, without clean water, without air. He concedes on that point, because the punishments hurt, yes, but they also raise the captors’ guards, and if he ever wants to get out, he needs them to think him a complacent dunce, though half the time he’s not sure if he’s just playing the part, anymore. 

They give up on “coaxing” him to sing. They give up on trying to force him to speak. His grace and poise with the audience is enough, rakes in enough money, that they decide the hassle isn’t worth it. 

Sometimes, he drifts out of his mind enough he can almost believe he’s out in the ocean, he can almost hear that breathless laughter right beside him, can almost touch that flash of purple, before it vanishes into the air, leaving him alone and lost. Sometimes, he’s angry enough he still rams the glass with all his might, praying it will shatter, though he knows it never will. Sometimes he almost, almost, gives in to the urge to sing, because he can feel the power built up in his throat, so strong and viscous it’s hard to breathe, sometimes, but time and time again, he swallows it down, choking on all the words he wishes he could say, to the one person he misses the most, misses at all, misses like a piece of himself.   
…  
The net. 

He’s so close. 

He feigned listing to the bottom, feigned the drugs working and taking over, and it’s a new trainee, doing it today, going after his scales, so the boy doesn’t recognize his ruse. 

He knows this stop is close the sea, on a boardwalk of some kind, he can smell it from inside the tank, this is the closest he’s been to it in the nearly three years he’s been trapped here, and he will never have another chance like this. They must think him well and truly gone, to give him this opportunity, and he will not waste it.

He feels the top of the tank open, hears the net splash into the water and settle around him, hears the young man panting as he hauls on the rope, pulling him just slightly above the rim of the tank, his tail still dangling into the water. 

He can feel his short exposure to the drugs taking their toll, his limbs are slow to respond, his eyes slow to open, the world is slightly foggy and off kilter, but he’s awake and aware and knows what he needs to do. He coils his muscles tight, and springs. 

He makes it to the ground, makes it two thirds of the way across the tent, and he hears the man shout in alarm, cursing as he uses his tail to propel himself forwards, making it out of the back entrance flap as he hears footsteps behind him, too caught up in his adrenaline rush to care that it hasn’t changed back to legs, yet. 

The dock is before him, a boardwalk, like he’d thought, and it must be late, because the moon is high, and there’s no one around, and he’s mere feet from the sea when he feels his legs tingle to life. 

He doesn’t know how he manages to stand. Doesn’t know where the strength comes from, and his balance is all over the place as he runs, yelping as a rope catches around his ankle and he goes down hard. He feels a net be thrown around him, but he growls, so close, he’s so close, and with a desperate, heaving, pull, he rolls off the edge and into the water, hearing a splash and surprised yelp follow behind, as the grip on the net goes slack. 

He shoots off with the speed of a falcon, out of sight in seconds, so far, so fast, they’ll never catch up, and he can’t stop laughing, can’t stop sobbing, because it feels so good, so right, the open water, the endless sky, the shining moon, but it feels so wrong, because he knows there should be a body beside him, cutting through the waves with their fingers entwined, voices ringing through the night, and his own aches to be set free, but he screws down his will and swallows. 

Not yet. Soon, soon, he’ll find him, and everything, everything will be right again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go wrong, then they go right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a bit shorter than the other one, but I do really like how it turned out.

He wakes up crying. He swipes away the tears, pushing himself up. He’s alone, mercifully, and someone has left a plate of simple food beside the bed, and a jug of water.

He doesn’t feel like eating, but forces down the food anyway, knowing he needs it. The incentive of water helps, it soothes his throat going down, though it’s still scratchy.

Carefully, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath, before trying to stand. 

He nearly falls, catching himself on the bed frame until he can straighten himself up, feeling a little more stable, confident enough to lean against the wall to make his way out the door.

He uses the scattered trees for support, until he reached a rocky outcropping, letting his legs give out as he slides down against a tree, panting from the small exertion. 

He hates feeling this weak. Being this weak. He’s sick of being trapped and weak and helpless, and he feels tears of angry frustration slipping down his face.

He lets out a deep breath, closing his eyes, focusing. 

Rough bark against his back. Dry dirt beneath him, slightly straggly grass under his palms. He tilts his head up, letting the soft, salty breeze wash over him, catch wisps of his hair. He hears the waves, crashing against the shore below. He hears distant laughter, then a splash, and smirks, imagining clearly enough the cause. 

It fades quickly, to something wistful, something sad, something that has him struggling to cling to the calm he’d made, giving up as fingers curl into the dirt.   
…  
“What's your favorite color?”

“Black.” He raised his eyebrow at the answer, not ceasing in his gentle stroking of Virgil's hair, who was sprawled across his him, eyes closed in contentment. 

“Really? How original of you, Nymphaea.” Virgil snorted, at both his dry response and the use of his pet name. 

“What's yours, then?” a challenge, as Virgil props himself up on his arms, staring up into his eyes with a smug grin. Oh, but he always has loved a challenge.

“Oh, I don’t know. There is one I'm rather fond of. It looks something. Like. This.” He purrs, gently tracing the scales ringing Virgil's eyes, feeling the siren still under his touch, his face a soft, adorable pink. His smirk deepens as he lets his hand slip down Virgil's face, palms resting against his chest, so close there’s only a hairsbreadth of space between them, their lips so close their noses are touching. 

“although I don’t dislike black.” He murmured, then Virgil yanked him, by the shirt, closing the distance, laughing against his lips as they met in a wonderful cacophony of bliss.  
…

It takes him a long time, longer than it should, really, to realize there’s a presence beside him. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, under this tree, trying to breath around the painful ache in his chest. 

“he doesn’t want to see me. He doesn’t… doesn’t want me here, does he?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper, wincing slightly at the rasp of speech against his throat. He can’t find the will to open his eyes, to move from his spot, to see the siren’s judging stare or appraising gaze. 

“no. He doesn’t. But I was told what you relayed to Patton and Roman. And also the behaviors they noticed you exhibiting. I would like your side of the story, before I pass my own judgement.” He thumps his head back against the tree, opening his eyes to stare up at the sky, blue with patches of wispy clouds. 

“it doesn’t matter. He’s so stubborn. If he’s already decided he doesn’t want to hear it, then he simply won’t listen. I…” He swallows hard, throat burning with pain. “If he wants me gone, that’s fine. I’ll… I’ll go. But I never chose to leave him. I would never, no matter the cost, have chosen to leave.”

“you were held captive.” He nods, unable to do much else. 

“Three years. Treated like some sad, beaten down circus lion, gawked at and unable to swim, to move, with how little space I had, never allowed time out of the water, never allowed a moments peace, between them and… and him. Thoughts of him. of getting out, of making it back, of reuniting, of the happiness and joy and warmth, and I never once thought of what he must be feeling, me vanishing as soon as he changed me, all I could think of was my own pathetically wasted hope.” He spits the word as it burns his tongue, letting out a bitter laugh. “for how clever he always thought me, I’ve never done anything but play the fool.” And gods, his chest is burning, his throat is scorching, it’s a kind of pain he’s never known, but he feels he somehow deserves it. 

He hears someone calling his name, or he thinks he does, but he can’t seem to breathe, against the exquisite, shuddering fire roiling through his air pipe, into his lungs, stealing away his thoughts, his words, his voice. But it’s fine. It’s not like he has any use for it now, anyways. Not like anything about him isn’t broken already. Might as well add heart break to the list.   
…  
Logan inhales sharply, seeing the violet glow over Janus's throat, the sigil burning with light, starting to blacken at the edges. 

He doesn’t think. In hindsight, he's sure this is a bad idea, but he doesn’t have time to think right now, acting on instinct, as he scoops Janus up into his arms and races back to his own house, hidden behind the tree line, shoving aside the curtain.

“Lo?” Virgil asks, a thousand emotions flicking across his face in the span of a single second, settling on angry misery. “Why?” he asks instead, voice hard and cold as Logan lays Janus down on the bed.

“Look. Virgil, look.” At the stern command in Logan's voice, he does, eyes widening at that violet glow, at the burn blackening it, curling around his throat. 

“how..? He left…”

“He didn’t. He was taken. But he never gave up. Never lost faith, in finding his way back to you. The sigil can’t lie, Virgil. He never stopped loving you. It’s breaking now because he’s finally… giving up, on having anything with you. He’s choosing to let you go, because it’s what he knows you want.” 

“I… I don’t… logan, I don’t know what I want!” He shouts, unable to tear his eyes away from Janus’s face, from the steady burn scorching its way like a necklace of thorns around his throat. “it’s tied to his voice. Why is it tied to his voice?” Because even if he wants Janus to hurt in the same way he has, which he doesn’t know that he does, he cannot stand the idea of Janus losing his voice. 

“Because it’s tied to you.” His eyes widen, and he looks up at Logan, shaking and confused, barely able to ask the question on his lips. 

“What?” Logan’s face softens, and he rests a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. 

“He hasn’t spoken since he last saw you. And he’s never once sung. He said he was waiting for you. Said… said he’d wait forever, if that’s what you wanted.” He feels all the air leave his lungs as the world seems to slow. 

Janus loved to talk. Loved to speak. But only when he had something to say. Every word out of his mouth was carefully chosen, layered with meaning, his sentences branching off in a hundred different directions, asking a thousand different questions all at once, and trying to unravel them was a beautiful, infuriating puzzle. 

Just like his smile. Just like his eyes. Just like his heartbeat. Just like his warmth. Just like his casual greeting, the first time they met, turning and asking if he wanted to come out and chat, or if he just liked to look, grinning that wicked smirk of his, Virgil still didn’t know how he’d known he was there, had been watching him when he came to the cove for the past week, wondering what this human was doing hiding away from his own kind and finding solace with the sea. 

Janus’s voice is everything that he is. Smooth and soft spoken, bright and passionate, soft and beguiling, implying, an offhand comment that would fluster Virgil, that would be played off as a joke, the lingering invitation and what if echoing through the rest of the conversation until it twisted in on itself, and it wasn’t a what if anymore, but the truth of skin and scales and love. 

Janus loves his voice. He is losing his voice. Giving it up, giving it away, choosing to sever the magic between them and accept its backlash, accept the price of breaking it, allowing it to break him instead of forcing Virgil to stay when he so clearly doesn’t want to, except he doesn’t know what he wants anymore, because it’s plain as day that Logan is right. That Janus still loves him. That he will trade away his soul for his happiness. And isn’t that the most unapologetically Janus move to make, to trade away his everything for someone who hates him and whom he himself still loves. 

He doesn’t know when he moved, but he can’t help himself any longer, he doesn’t care, he can’t stand to be this close and not touching him, can’t stand to see him like this one moment longer, can’t stand to let Janus tear himself apart for nothing, because stars above and gods below he loves him, he loves him so much it hurts, and then his hands are cupping Janus’s face, and their lips are pressed together, and then Janus is kissing him back, and he feels arms wrap around him, and when he opens his eyes, he’s drowning in Janus’s mismatched, hypnotizing, stare, so warm and brilliant and shining, and he’s laughing and crying and breaking apart as Janus pulls him onto the bed, cradling him to his chest, as if he’s the most precious thing in the universe, and he curls tighter against him, pressing himself so close there’s no space between them, shaking from the pure relief of just giving in to his want.

“Virgil.” Janus’s voice is shaking and raspy but there, and sweet as ever, sweet as he remembered, as smooth and deep as the ocean itself, and it’s filled with so much joy he can’t help but burrow closer, cry harder. “Virgil, virgil, my water lily, my nymphaea, my beautiful, impossible siren, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, love, I’m so incredibly, unbearably sorry.” 

“What happened? Where… where did you go, Jan, why..?” 

“My father. I wasn’t careful enough, Virgil, he knew, he was following me, and he saw, and he sold me. I tried, I tried so hard, Virgil, I fought so hard to get back to you, every day, you kept me sane, every day I held onto you.” He swallows hard, tipping Virgil’s face up, brushing his cheek with his fingertips, unable to stop staring at him, because he’s still so afraid this is just another hallucination, then Virgil softly kisses him, slow and tentative and gentle, but it means so very, very much. 

“you’re real. I can’t… I’m sorry, I just… I… you’re here. You’re here, Virgil.” Virgil laughs, leaning closer, resting their foreheads against each other, and he inhales deeply, for the first time in years, he lets himself actually breath, warm sun and soft sand, and that unmistakable aroma of wild things, secret things, the unfathomable, mysterious, depths of the ocean. “you’re everything. You are everything, Virgil. I will never leave you alone for a single second, you’ll be so sick of me, you’ll be praying for the end of time so you won’t have to spend another minute in my presence, I will never let go of you ever again.” He whispers, reveling in the feel of Virgil, Virgil, his Virgil. 

“I’m sorry.” He startles at that, pulling back slightly, so he can look at Virgil, who’s face is turned away from him. 

“what could you possibly be sorry for, Nymphaea? You’re absolutely perfect.” He murmurs, and Virgil lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. 

“I’m trying to be serious, Jan.” He doesn’t hesitate to reach out, fingers intertwining with Virgil’s, eyes serious as he looks up at him. 

“So am I.” 

“I gave up on you. All that time, you were… were hurting, and I just thought… I just thought you’d finally gotten sick of me. Or were just using me from day one. I thought you’d gotten what you wanted and left, and I never even considered that… that anything else had happened. So yeah, I’m sorry! I’m-“ He presses a finger to Virgil’s lips, instantly silencing the ramble he knows is coming if he lets Virgil continue, and he forces the siren to look into his eyes as he formulates his next words carefully. 

“it’s ok, Virgil. I know. You always jump to worst case scenarios, unless someone is there to pull you back from the brink. You always dive in headfirst with all of yourself, so of course me vanishing hurt you. It aches, that you thought I would do that to you, love, but I know it isn’t your fault for thinking that way. What else were you supposed to think? Besides. It doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m sorry, you’re sorry, let’s throw ourselves a pity party later, I’ll make the invitations, but right now? I honestly couldn’t care less. Because I am here. And you are here. And that is all I have ever wanted, Virgil, to be anywhere, as long as it is with you.” Virgil is smiling, grinning, it’s so rare, that he smiles that big, and it makes him fill with vibrant joy, seeing that smile on Virgil, and when their lips meet again it’s soft and beautiful and perfect and a thousand other words that flee his head the moment he thinks them, because Virgil is like a heady, summer wine, and he is endlessly drunk off the feel of him near, after so long apart. 

“I love you. He murmurs, between kisses, his hand having found its way against the back of Virgil’s neck, his other around his waist, pulling him closer. Virgil’s are both in his hair, which is long and tangled, and Virgil is slowly unknotting so carefully he has yet to feel a single tug. “I love you, Virgil.” 

“I know. I do too, Jan. I love you. I… I really, really do.” 

Later, they’ll talk, learn the full stories of what has happened in their time apart, they’ll cry, hearing what the other has gone through and hold each other tighter for it. Later, they’ll fall asleep in a pile of tangled limbs, Virgil atop Janus, head on his chest, hand still reaching up where he was idly stroking his hair, still. Later they’ll face all their still complicated, conflicting emotions, work through them together, rebuild their trust, rebuild their life together, one different than the one they had once dreamed of, perhaps better, than what they imagined. 

Later, more afraid than he’ll ever admit out loud, Virgil will coax him to set free his voice and sing. And he’ll be scared, so scared, that somehow he won’t be able to, somehow he’ll let Virgil down, somehow it won’t be perfect, but then Virgil will roll his eyes at his hesitance, and set his own voice loose, breathy and wild like riding the edge of a tsunami, like knowing he’s on the edge of the eye of a hurricane, like the wildest, most beautiful of thunderstorms. And he’ll sing. Soft, and tentative, and slow, but it rises like a brilliant sunset, it explodes out like a supernova, it coils around itself into an intricate weave of harmonies and melodies and it slips into Virgil’s song like a glove. 

Later, Virgil will realize that the dark scar over his chest is fading away, revealing the golden glowing sigil below it, Janus’s love restoring all that he’d thought lost forever, and he’ll laugh against his lover’s lips, drown in his embrace, drag him out to sea because he’s never actually swam, escaping doesn’t count, it wasn’t for fun, Janus, and they’ll chase and laugh and feel so buoyant it’s a wonder they don’t simply float to the surface. 

But for now, they simply hold each other, close and calm and quiet, whispering I love you’s back and forth like treasured gems, reacquainting themselves with each inch of the other’s body, kissing and crying and smiling until all the darkness is banished far from view, and, at least for the moment, everything is just as it should be.   
Everything is perfect.


End file.
